


Salad

by diemarysues



Series: A King and her Burglar [11]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dwobbits, F/F, Female Bilbo, Female Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Completed fic for the voted for Poison:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>‘It is most discourteous,’ Bilbo thought as her vision swam, ‘to attack a Hobbit via her food.’</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Salad

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry. Unbetaed.
> 
> This fic is **potentially triggering**.   
> **TRIGGER WARNING: MISCARRIAGE**

“You are being very affectionate today.”

 

Bilbo didn’t stop nuzzling the underside of Thorin’s jaw, glad that her wife’s beard was soft and well-maintained. “Are you complaining?”

 

“Not when you save me from dealing with fools, no.” Thorin chuckled, batting away the hands pawing at her clothes. “What _has_ gotten into you?”

“You could.”

 

Rather annoyingly, Thorin laughed at this attempt at seduction. Laughed! “You’re insatiable.”

 

“I am not,” Bilbo grumbled, tugging one earring between her teeth. Her slight irritation had her actions rougher than intended… though perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing.

 

“You kept me up most of last night!” The admonishment lost something in the breathlessness of Thorin’s voice. Bilbo felt a fierce thrill of pride.

 

“You enjoyed it.”

 

“That was rather the point, I think.”

 

“Oh, come along, Thorin. You and I both know you’d welcome the break from your work.”

 

“I’ve hardly done anything to warrant a break.”

 

“Of course you have.” She tasted the skin behind the Dwarf’s ear, mind firmly on memories of tasting more intimate parts of her. “You’ve defeated armies. Established and reclaimed kingdoms. Made your people proud.”

 

“I have yet more duties to them that I must see to.” Even as she said this, Thorin arched her neck and stroked through the curls on her Hobbit’s feet.

 

Bilbo pulled back to consider her lightly-flushed Dwarf, hazel eyes half-lidded. “And what of your duties to your wife?”

 

* * *

 

It is perhaps not very relevant, but Thorin was very willing to fulfil the aforementioned duties – not least because this took the shape of a curious item that, when worn, enabled her to fuck Bilbo quite thoroughly into their bed.

 

* * *

 

“I really don’t think you should be eating that many vegetables.”

 

Bilbo raised her eyebrows, fork paused on its way to her mouth. “You think any amount of vegetables is too much.”

 

“That isn’t true. I like tomatoes.” True to her word, of the helping of salad on her plate, only the red fruit had been eaten. Thorin made a pained sound. “Stop bouncing on ‘ _Amad_ , Fennin.”

 

“S’ry.”

 

Their son hardly opened his mouth to speak – and often swallowed half the words he did say – but it was a vast improvement from his voluntary muteness. Thorin fed him another bite of veal.

 

“You’d do well to vary your diet, Thorin.”

 

“My diet is adequate. I do not need to supplement it with –” she threw another semi-disgusted look at Bilbo’s plate “– sweet clover, of all things.” She smirked suddenly. “You really are a bunny.”

 

“Let’s not start that nonsense again. I honestly don’t understand where Beorn got that from.” Rather than dole some more of the salad onto her plate, Bilbo just pulled the serving platter closer and ate off it. No one else was going to finish it.

 

“Mayhap it was your twitchy nose.”

 

She ignored this familiar teasing, instead concentrating on her food. Few Dwarves seemed to appreciate ‘green food’, but really. Someone in the kitchens was apparently a genius to combine the bitterness of the clover with peppery arugula and fresh tomatoes – and they were kind enough to send it to Bilbo’ and Thorin’s table every day of this week.

 

Bilbo coughed to ease an itchiness in her throat.

 

“All done. Wipe your mouth, _inùdoy_.”

 

“Not on your sleeve!”

 

Fennin pouted at Bilbo. She was unimpressed. “I blame your nephews for this.”

 

Thorin lifted Fennin off of her lap and onto the floor. He grinned at them both and scampered off, ostensibly to play before he was forced into the bath. “They’re your nephews as much as they’re mine. And you love them as much as I do.”

 

“Unfortunately.” Bilbo scratched her neck and watched her wife take a long drink of wine. Now that they were alone she was free to entertain not-so innocent ideas that had been plaguing her all day. Her eyes greedily took in the long line of Thorin’s throat.

 

Thorin’s eyes unerringly met hers over the rim of her goblet. “I _know_ what you’re thinking.”

 

“Mmm, I hope so.”

 

“Bilbo, this is getting to be too much.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she replied, masking her hurt by picking up her fork again.

 

A soft sigh. Thorin’s fingers slid over her wrist. “It’s unusual, is all. I didn’t mean to cause offense.”

 

She cleared her throat. “It’s not unusual. You remember the months after our wedding.”

 

Her wife and King chuckled fondly. “That was a good time.”

 

“Exactly. I love Fennin with all my heart, but we don’t have as much time together as we used to.” Just admitting that out loud made her feel incredibly guilty, and Bilbo took a large gulp of her drink to sooth the burn she’d developed upon swallowing. “I only wanted some time with you, especially before we have any more children.”

 

Thorin kissed Bilbo’s fingers. “Why don’t I draw a bath for us both?” Her beard was prickly-soft against Bilbo’s skin. “Just like our wedding night.”

 

“Except, perhaps –” Bilbo coughed. “Perhaps I could –” Again she broke off, coughing. “Thorin –”

 

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

 

As Bilbo coughed and coughed and fought to catch her breath, she could see that Thorin knew exactly what was happening. She’d come to the same conclusion herself, after all.

 

‘It is most discourteous,’ Bilbo thought as her vision swam, ‘to attack a Hobbit via her food.’

 

She did not remember fainting.

 

* * *

 

Guards and healers were fetched.

 

It was only after Bilbo’s condition had stabilised that Thorin pried herself away from her wife’s side – but although the poison source had been isolated, they learned that it had been nothing more than an accident born of negligence.

 

(And later, Thorin learned of more information that made her leave Fennin in the care of his cousins. She gave orders to be called for only when Bilbo woke – then barricaded herself in her sister’s rooms to weep into Dís’ shoulder.)

 

* * *

 

Bilbo didn’t wake up in one go.

 

She couldn’t really say how many times she’d tried to open her eyes, only to give up out of sheer exhaustion. She thought she might have heard snatches of conversation – whether someone had been talking to her or whether there’d been people talking to each other – but nothing had stuck.

 

Trying to talk had been abject failures the few times she’d tried.

 

One thing the Hobbit was absolutely sure of was that something was _wrong_ (beyond her being poisoned, obviously). She knew this deep in her bones, even before she saw Thorin for the first time since that night.

 

Tired as she was, Bilbo knew to tread carefully. She squeezed Thorin’s hand as best she could manage and smiled weakly. “Poison, then?”

 

Thorin nodded.

 

“And those responsible?” It was unlikely that Thorin’s painful stillness was due to their not having anyone to blame (yet), but Bilbo figured it was worth a shot.

 

“Were unaware.”

 

“Unaware?” Unaware of what – of poisoning her or, or that it was Bilbo being poisoned? What?

 

Another nod.

 

Bilbo’s eyebrows twitched as she tried (and failed) to frown. “I need more of an answer than that.”

 

“You need to heal first.” Thorin kissed her hand gently. The action betrayed the way her lips trembled. She still refused to meet Bilbo’s eyes; her own were red-rimmed. “Be well, my wife.”

 

* * *

 

“I disapprove of what you’re doing entirely,” Dís said without preamble. She stood before Thorin, arms crossed and a heavy scowl on her face.

 

“My wife must be restored to full health. That’s the priority.”

 

“Apparently it’s escaped your notice, sister mine, but Bilbo can hardly sleep for worrying about what you’re not telling her. Is _that_ supposed to help with her health?”

 

Thorin gave up all pretence of trying to work. “What would you have me do?” she demanded, throwing her quill onto the tabletop. “As soon as I tell her the full truth of what happened, she will – she will –”

 

“She will survive. You both will.”

 

“Not from this. No.”

 

“Bilbo is stronger than you give her credit for,” Dís said softly, but Thorin could tell that she didn’t fully believe her own words.

 

“She is not strong enough.” The King’s fist clenched around the pendant Bilbo had given to her years ago. It was an opal doublet, black with ribbons of blue and green – near worthless in value, but one of Thorin’s dearest possessions. “And… neither am I.”

 

* * *

 

Bilbo awoke to the familiar feel of being in the circle of strong arms – and although she was upset with Thorin for withholding information, she pressed her forehead to her wife’s collarbone and breathed in deep. She’d longed for this.

 

It didn’t chase away the feeling of _wrongness_ that had pervaded her every sense since she’d woken up, but it helped soothe it.

 

She felt Thorin shift and unkindly asked, “What has brought this on?”

 

Thorin stroked steadily through Bilbo’s curls. “I thought it best that I delay the news. Óin agreed with me that it would affect your convalescence if we told you too soon.” She sighed deeply, and Bilbo could believe that Thorin regretted the decision. “It appears to have backfired.”

 

“It’s good that you came to your senses,” Bilbo tried to joke, but the smile slid off her face at Thorin’s expression.

 

“Are you sure you want this, Bilbo?” the King asked seriously, now cupping her cheek. “I will make it clear now that I still would rather not tell you. Not yet.”

 

Bilbo crumpled Thorin’s tunic in her hands. She was terrified of what this terrible news could be – but she was even more terrified that ‘not yet’ would turn into ‘not ever’. “Please. Please tell me.”

 

Thorin’s eyes slipped closed. “Mahal forgive me.”

 

Frowning, her heart in her throat, Bilbo opened her mouth to demand a straightforward answer, for _once_ – but Thorin interrupted by leaning close to a pointed ear and giving it.

 

Bilbo’s heart turned to ice and shattered.

 

* * *

 

She should have waited.

 

* * *

 

She should have heeded Thorin’s warnings.

 

* * *

 

 

 

_“There was a baby.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiled sweet clover has coumarin in it - which is basically the same chemical you get in the anticoagulant warfarin, which you get in some rat poisons. Yup.
> 
> So yeah, hi, back from my hiatus and had my first paper earlier. *clears throat nervously*
> 
> Oh, and vote for a oneshot to be written from the second set of ficlets in [The Little Things](http://archiveofourown.org/works/823791/chapters/1565689).


End file.
